


Untitled Valentine's Day One-Shot

by My_Lady_Lune



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, no nutritional value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Lady_Lune/pseuds/My_Lady_Lune
Summary: Thomas comes home from work.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Untitled Valentine's Day One-Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a year ago and posted it in tumblr, but I thought I'd put it here in the spirit of the day. Also, I'm working on a new V-Day story, but I work in a jewelry store and have been very busy so uhhh it's not done yet :) In the meantime, enjoy!

By the time Thomas got home from work, it was nearing midnight and he was dead on his feet. 

It was usual for him to be stuck with the closing shift on Fridays, really. But today was Valentine’s Day, and that made work a little more hectic than usual; honestly, the number of proposals he’d seen that day was staggering (not that four was a particularly high number itself, but it was four more men down on a knee than he usually saw in a day). He’d gone in earlier too, just as the reservations started to overlap the most for dinner. 

He was used to it. He always worked holidays, him being the only one who was consistently unattached. 

But now he  _ was _ attached, and he’d had to work anyway. Somehow that wasn’t surprising. The first time in years he’s had someone to spend Valentine’s day with, and he’d missed it. At least he didn’t work tomorrow. He clung to that silver lining.

There were thirteen minutes left of the day by the time he walked into his flat. Thomas wondered if that was some kind of omen. 

The key stuck in the lock more than it usually did, due to him being tired and clumsy. He yanked it out and closed the door with more force than strictly necessary. Walking deeper into the apartment, Thomas noticed the aroma in the air; sweet and savory and warm, in every sense. Taking an active look around, he noticed the little table in the breakfast nook was set and a single, vibrant red orchid at its center. 

“Richard?” Thomas asked as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. No one was there, but there was a tray of brownies cooling and the oven was still on. He stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what he was feeling but pretty positive he liked it. 

“Darling? That you?” Richard’s voice sounded from behind him. Thomas turned to see him coming from the bedroom, tugging his t-shirt down over his middle. Thomas couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. He always revelled in getting to see Richard like this. He was always so put-together, so polished, but Thomas loved to see him dressed down and comfortable.

Granted, he liked Richard in either case. 

Richard smiled and gave Thomas a lingering kiss. “Welcome home.”

Thomas could only think to say, “You waited up?”

“Of course I did. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Thomas felt warm all over. “House special tonight; maple roasted chicken and vegetables. After that, Grammy Ellis’ famous brownies and that bottle of port from Christmas.”

“You did all this for me.” It wasn’t a question. It was only beginning to really sink in. Thomas thought he might actually love this stupid holiday. 

Richard kissed him again. “Go get changed, dearest. You’re very overdressed.” And he went to the oven. 

Thomas went and dressed (or undressed, rather) and they ate dinner at midnight in their undershirts and plaid flannels and houseshoes. Richard was truly an excellent cook, and honestly was at his most vibrant under the light of the moon and stars. 

Desert was to be even less formal; Richard placed the tray of brownies, the port, and two glasses on the coffee table, and told Thomas to get comfortable. “I thought we might get on with our marathon. We’ve got  _ From Russia With Love _ next, if you’re up for it?” 

Thomas smirked. “I do hope you’ve got the late shift tomorrow.”

“I’ve got the day off, in fact.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I did request it off. Seemed the thing to do.”

Thomas didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he excused himself to retrieve his own gift. He felt rather silly, after all this. His contribution to the evening wasn’t nearly as lovely as anything Richard had done. 

Back on the couch, he very nonchalantly handed the book to Richard--it wasn’t even wrapped, for goodness’ sake--and coughed to clear the nerves from his voice. “It’s not as--well, I can hardly keep up with you, can I, in the way of sweeping you off your feet. But I found this at  _ Cromwell’s _ a couple of weeks ago, and...well, I only thought you might like it.” Christ, he was awful at this.

But Richard held the book reverently, fingers softly grazing the faded green cover and the gilt lettering. He smiled one of his glittering smiles as he read the title, and Thomas felt like he might’ve gotten something right. “ _ Flappers and Philosophers. _ First edition, too, bloody hell, and you just happened upon it.”

“I thought we might--” damn, but this was soppy. “I thought we could read it together. If you like.”

“Darling, I’d love nothing more.”

The book was placed, for the time-being, on the bookshelf--on what had become Richard’s shelf, specifically, right between his collection of Tennyson and a particularly large volume about the House of Medici. The humans settled on the loveseat, Thomas tucked into Richard’s side and both sharing the quilt Mrs. Hughes had given Thomas many Christmases ago. 

As the opening theme drew to a close--and after they both calmed their heckling at the women dancing in projector light--Richard placed a chaste kiss on Thomas’ temple, and Thomas smiled. 


End file.
